


The Wolf's Choice

by Fangirl_from_Philly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack-ish, F/M, Fluff, Gendrya Big Bang, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Kinda, Mentions of attempted rape and assult, Minor Sansa/Theon, Ned Dayne is a useful plot device, Other minor assorted cameos, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Robert Never Came North -AU, Show Cannon, fairytale AU, guys I don't know how to tag things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25371028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_from_Philly/pseuds/Fangirl_from_Philly
Summary: Arya says she’ll marry the man who can remove a necklace that is around Nymeria’s throat, hoping that no one can remove it, but knowing that if someone does, they won’t try to tame or cage her. Gendry, the bastard smith's apprentice, knows that his best friend put this condition on her betrothal, and mostly ignores the lordlings who come through Winterfell, seeking her hand. But, when one lord gets closer than anyone else, Gendry is startled to realize that he doesn't want anyone to take the necklace from Nymeria, except for maybe him.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 248





	1. 297 AC – One and Ten

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in a while and I hope you guys like it! I've never written for GoT before, so this is new for me. But I had a ton of fun working on it and I really hope you enjoy

“No, absolutely not!” Arya shouted at her parents. She had been summoned into her father’s solar only half an hour ago and while normally she would take any excuse to skip sewing lessons with the Septa, this might be worse.

“Arya, calm down,” her mother reached out and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Nothing has happened yet. Your father and I just thought you should know that we would have to start looking for betrothals for you soon, especially with Sansa being betrothed to Prince Joffrey and Robb getting ready to leave for Highgarden to officially court Lady Margaery.”

“I don’t want to be betrothed,” Arya said again, pulling her arm away from her mother. “I don’t want to marry some prissy lordling who will want me to pop out babies and sit quietly at home! That’s not me!”

“Arya, I promise you, we will find you a good match,” her father tried to reassure her. “You know we would never betroth you to someone who will not respect you or your wishes.”

“So you’ll find me a husband who won’t want me to bare him gods know how many children?” she scoffed. “A lord who will let me wear pants and tunics and fight him in the yard? A man with no interest in taming me or making me wait around at home so he can fuck his babies into me?" 

“Arya!” her mother scolded. “That is quite enough. I know you do not like the idea, but it is only a betrothal, not the end of the world.”

Arya just growled and stormed out of the room, ducking past Jory and her father both as they tried to grab her, running through the castle she knows like the back of her hand and out into the courtyard where the boys were practicing their forms. She longed to join them; to take Needle and spar with them. But she couldn’t. Because she was wearing a dress. Because none of them would agree to practice with her. Because if her mother saw, there would be hell to pay. So, instead, she stormed up to her room, carefully dodging the guards, and quickly changed into the old tunic she stole from Bran and the pants that Mycah, the butcher’s son, gave to her. As she changed, Nymeria, her direwolf, cocked her head to the side, looking at her quizzically. 

“They are going to have to pry Needle away from my cold, dead hands. I won’t be forced into being some perfect, proper lady,” Arya huffed, putting the sword in question into the belt she tied around her waist. She carefully opened the door, checking both ways to make sure the hallway was empty before nodding to Nymeria, who padded silently beside her as they made their way down to the Godswood. 

Arya didn’t know how long she was in there, with Nymeria standing guard. She practiced her forms, trying her best to copy what she had seen the boys do in the yard and what Jon had managed to teach her when he had given her the sword. He had offered to teach her more, but she knew that if her mother found she would try to send Jon away for good. They had only just barely talked him out of joining the Night’s Watch and she wasn’t going to run the risk of losing him again. She just had to work with what she had, but it was hard to train without anyone to tell her what she was doing wrong or where she could improve. 

She was trying to practice the lunge she had seen Robb working on earlier when Nymeria barked twice, letting her know someone was approaching. Quickly, she stood up and held Needle behind her back as her Father walked around the side of the heart tree. He raised his eyebrows and held his hand out. When Arya didn’t move, he sighed, “Arya, I saw you with the sword. Let me see it.” Arya pouted but handed Needle to him. “Whose swords is this?” He asked, holding Needle out in front of him.

“Mine,” she said defensively, eyeing her father warily.

He ran his finger over the maker’s mark on the bottom of the blade. “This is Mikken’s work,” he remarked, his eyebrows raised in question. “Where did you get this?” Arya remained silent. She didn’t think her father would punish Jon too much for giving her Needle, but Father would tell Mother, and then Winterfell would become one of the seven hells for Jon. 

  
Ned sighed at his daughters silence. He knew the sword could only have come from one of her brothers. There were no other swords like this in Winterfell, though he remembered seeing some similar in Dorne during the war. He looked down at the sword and then back at his daughter. Her posture was rigid and her shoulders were squared. Jon, then. If it had been Robb or even Theon, she wouldn’t be preparing for a fight. A part of him, in the back of his mind, was proud that his daughter would protect Jon the same way Jon would protect her. Another part of him remembered his own relationship with his sister. One that was almost frighteningly similar. He cast his eyes to the face of the heart tree for a moment. Don’t let history repeat itself, he prayed. Let them be different.

He turned and focused his gaze back on his troublesome daughter. “This is no toy, you know,” he told her firmly, before turning to sit on one of the many boulders scattered around the heart tree. “Little ladies shouldn’t play with swords.”

Arya’s head snapped towards him, her braid whipping around her face, “I wasn’t playing!” She exclaimed, her face turning down trodden, “And I don’t want to be a lady.” Ned closed his eyes tightly. How many times had Lyanna said the same thing to him and Brandon and their father? Still, Lyanna was never half as wild as Arya was growing to be. 

He patted the space on the boulder next to him, shifting slightly to face Arya as she sat by him. She kept her shoulders back and her head high as faced him. When did she grow up? he wondered to himself. It seemed that just yesterday, she was sitting in his lap and begging him for stories about Others and the old Queens of Winter, her hands dirty from picking wildflowers to give him. “And what do you want with this?” he asked her, gesturing with the strange little swords.

“Its name is Needle,” she told him, looking him straight in the eye.

He could feel a smile growing on his lips that he did his best to suppress, but Arya, who had always known his moods since the day she entered the world squalling and fighting, smiled slightly back at him. “A blade with name,” he remarked drily. “And who were you hoping to skewer with Needle?” he asked, his left eyebrow raised in question. “Your future betrothed?” Arya pursed her lips and looked away. That was a yes, then. “Do you even know the first thing about sword fighting?” he asked her, curious. She had clearly been trying to imitate her brothers’ forms that they practiced in the yard, but they didn’t really work with a sword like Needle.

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end,” Arya told him seriously, her small eyebrows furrowed and her grey eyes, his eyes, pinched. 

Ned couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “That’s the essence of it,” he conceded, shaking his head slightly.

“I’m trying to learn,” Arya admitted softly. “But I know I can’t go out and practice in the yard with Jon and Robb and Bran. Mother would find out and then she would take Needle away. I just want to learn.” Her eyes were pleading. For a moment, he blinked and saw his sister on her death bed, the same look on her face. He blinked again and Arya was before him again. He put his arm around his little girl, pulling her into his side. 

“Your mother is trying to protect and prepare you the only way she knows how,” he told her softly. “In the South, Ladies who speak out of turn and don’t behave the way they are told often have short and miserable lives. She wants you to be happy and safe, you must know that.”

Arya nodded softly. “I know. But acting the Lady all the time will never make me happy. All the rules and dresses and pleasantries feels like a prison. It feels the same way Nymeria feels when she is locked in the kennels,” tells him, her head pressed into his side. Not for the first time, he wondered at the connection his children had with their wolves. He pushed that thought away for the moment, looking down at his daughter, his little girl.

“What about some of the time?” he asked her. Arya pulled back slightly, her brows furrowed in confusion and she tilted her head to the side the same way the wolves did when they were curious. “If you start listening to your mother and behaving a bit more, you would be able to make comprises with her,” he explained, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Arya looked at him seriously, lips pursed. “What kind of comprises?” she asked warily.

“Like, if you agree to stop running away from Septa Mordane during your lessons and listen when your mother asks you to do something, I will find someone to teach you sword fighting and make sure that you can keep practicing archery with Theon in the mornings.”  
Arya shot straight up at that, her grey eyes impossibly wide. “You know about that?” she cried, a blush rising on her pale face. 

Ned smiled, his eyes bright. “Yes, I know about that,” he tells her. “Do you think I thought it was only luck that got you to sink an arrow into the bullseye from ten yards away?” he asked drily. Arya had the grace about her to blush a bit. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell,” he joked, pressing his shoulder to hers. “But you have to listen to your mother and Septa more. I’ll talk to them about this, but you can’t keep running away from them.”

“You promise you’ll let me learn sword fighting?” she asked, her eyes both worried and trusting. 

“You have my word,” he promised her, pressing a kiss into her hair. Arya jumped up and throw her arms around his neck. Ned smiled at his daughter and  
pulled her close to him. When she pulled back, he laid a hand on the side of her face, “Does this mean you agree?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, her smile brighter than anything he has seen on her face for a very long time. She paused for a moment before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Father.” She turned and began to walk off, out of the Godswood, but she paused and turned back. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get out a betrothal, will I?” she asked sadly, her voice sounding far beyond her one and ten years.

“I’m afraid not, little wolf,” he told her, his heart sinking as the joy began to fall away from her face. “But I promise, whoever you marry will be worthy of you.”


	2. 298 AC - Two and Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is the longest chapter and the only one in three parts because exposition! Hope you guys enjoy!

“Keep your elbow up,” Theon called from behind her. Arya took a deep breath, adjusted her elbow, and let the arrow loose. It sunk into the middle of the target, just slightly off center. “Better, but you’re still worse than you usually are.” Arya turned to glare at him where he was leaning against the yard’s fence, his arms crossed and that infernal smirk on his lips. He met her eyes, “Am I wrong?” Arya grimaced and dropped the bow. He wasn’t. She walked towards the target to retrieve her arrows when he spoke again. “What’s got your smallclothes in a twist?”

Arya sighed and walked over to where he was standing, hoisting herself to sit on the fence next to him. “Gawen Glover, Ned Umber, and Cley Cerwyn are all coming to here in the next few months,” she told him, kicking her heel against the lower log of the fence. “My parents promised me that they would wait to betroth me, but it’s starting already.”

“Not looking forward to having to be someone’s little wife, then?” He jested. Arya turns her head to glare at him again, her lips pressed together. Theon bumps his shoulder to her, gently. “You know I’m jesting,” he tells her, reaching over to muss her hair. She quickly darts out of his reach. The only people who get to muss her hair are Jon and Father. 

“I don’t want to just be someone’s Lady Wife, damned to stay in a castle for the rest of her life and wait for her husband to come home to take care of her,” she explains, tugging on one of the loose strings at the edge of her stolen tunic. 

Theon looks at her and nods, understanding in his eyes. He understands what it’s like to be stuck with a label and destiny you don’t want. He told her about not knowing where he belonged, about feeling the call of the sea but knowing that Winterfell has been his home for far longer than Pyke ever was. He and Jon were the only ones who ever really understood her. “I have no doubt that they will realize that the moment they meet you,” he tells her. “You are far too much a she-wolf to be a true lady,” he smirks, nodding his head towards Nymeria, who was watching them from the corner of the yard. 

As they both watch her wolf, she hears him make a small noise, something between a hum and snort caught in the back of his throat. When she looked at him, she saw a smirk on his face and a mischievous light in his eyes, the same smirk and light that he got when he tried to convince Robb to sneak into Wintertown with him. “What?” Arya asked cautiously. Theon’s ideas were often clever, but never quite as clever as he thought they were.

“Nothing, just, if you really want to make sure that your betrothal gets pushed off for a while, you could put certain conditions in place,” he told her, the smirk growing even wider on his face. 

“What conditions?” Arya asked, cocking her head at him, confused.

“Well, Brienne of Tarth has said she’ll only marry someone who can beat her in combat, and the Mormont women have done similarly,” he began.

“I can’t do that!” Arya rolled her eyes. She had been trying with Syrio for almost six moons now, but she still ended up ‘dead’ multiple times per lesson. “I don’t have nearly as much experience as them.”

“Well, I know that,” Theon rolled his eyes at her. “You might be getting better, but you still need plenty of practice. I was thinking of something else,” he told her, his eyes drifting back to Nymeria, who trotted over to them and head butted Arya. 

As Arya reached down to scratch behind Nymeria’s ears, she turned back to Theon. “What were you thinking, then?” she asked. Theon smiled in full and explained his plan for her.

Catelyn and Ned were getting ready for bed when there was a soft knock at their door. Catelyn glanced at her husband, who seemed just as confused as her. She went to the door and opened it slightly, surprised to see their youngest daughter at the door. “Arya, are you alright?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Can I speak to you and Father about something?” Arya asked, her voice timid. “Please?”

She slowly opened the door for her, still confused. It was not like Arya to come to them late at night, especially to talk to the both of them. Catelyn was big enough to admit that Arya generally preferred Ned’s company over her own, but that did not mean that Arya loved her any less, nor that Catelyn loved Arya less than Sansa. She had feared for quite some time that that might be the case, but after whatever conversation Ned had with Arya after they told her they must begin to look for betrothals for her, Arya and Catelyn had been on better terms. They understood the other’s perspective better.

As Arya came in, Catelyn noticed the delicate silver chain in her hand. Ned had given Arya that necklace for her two and ten nameday. He had given it to his sister on that same nameday and she knew how much that necklace reminded him of Lyanna, almost as much as the girl in front of her. “What do you want to talk to us about, sweetling?”

“It’s about my betrothal,” Arya said quietly, her large greys meeting Catelyn’s own blue eyes. She had never seen Arya so nervous.

“What about it, little wolf?” Ned asked, walking around the desk he had been seated at and beckoning Arya and herself to the chairs by the fire. Arya sat across from them, playing with the necklace in her hands. “You know this is something that has to be done, but the boys coming in the next few months will just be here so that you and them can get a feel for each other and we can see if it is a good match,” Ned explained softly. She knew that, of all the children they had together, Ned had a soft spot for Arya. He loved all of them dearly, even the bastard boy, as much as Catelyn was loathe to admit it, but he was far more likely to indulge Arya than the others. Indulgences that had given her more grey hairs than she would like to admit, but she knew her daughter was no Southron flower; she was built for the cold and wildness of the North, like her father. This was the only thing that had soothed her when Ned told her about the bargain he had struck with their wild girl. Though, as much as she disapproved of the sword fighting and horse riding, Arya’s composure and grace had greatly improved over the last year.

“It’s just that,” Arya said, shifting a bit to sit up straighter. “I want to make sure that whoever I end up betrothed too is truly a good person, not just putting on a show for us.”

“What is your meaning, sweet girl?” Ned asked, his head cocked. She thought she knew.

“You want to make sure that the man you marry is the same man you agreed to marry,” she realized, her heart breaking a bit at Arya’s practicality.

Arya nodded quickly. “Exactly! I know I’m wilder than most men want and I don’t want to agree to marry someone thinking they accept that and then find out that they want to beat it out of me.”

“Arya, we would never agree to a match like that for you,” Ned softly, reaching over to grab her hand. 

“I know that you would never intentionally make a match like,” Arya assured them. “But people lie about their true intentions all the time.”

“What were you thinking about?” She asked, understanding exactly what Arya meant. She had gotten lucky with Ned. He was a good, kind, honest man, but she had no way of knowing that before they were married. At the same time, her daughter’s practicality and worry broke her heart. Her little girl, whose dreams are full of adventure and knighthood, was already more aware of the harsh reality of the world than her older sister. She wished Arya could hold onto her naivety for a little bit longer.

“I want to put a condition on my betrothal,” Arya said, squaring her shoulders. “It’s not entirely uncommon. The Mormont women won’t marry men who won’t take their name. Brienne of Tarth won’t marry anyone who can’t beat her in a fight.”  
“What kind of condition?” Ned asked, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“I want to put this,” she held up the necklace she had brought with her. “In a pouch around Nymeria’s throat. It would be sewn to the cord so that it couldn’t fall off and Nymeria won’t let anyone she doesn’t trust close enough to her to cut the cord itself. The only way to get it would be for Nymeria to trust them.”

“Arya,” Ned sighed, pressing his palms into his eyes. 

“Please, Father,” Arya begged. “Nymeria is smart and she can always tell when someone isn’t trustworthy. This way, I will know whoever retrieves the necklace will be a good man and a good husband.”

“Will you promise not to teach Nymeria to attack every man she sees?” Ned asked, her eyes locked on her daughter.

“I swear,” Arya promised. “I will tell her that only someone she trusts can take the cord from her neck.”

“And you think she will understand that?” Catelyn asked. She knew that the children shared a special bond with the wolves, but they were still animals.

“She will,” Arya nodded, looking more sure than anything. “She knows what I know, and she is smarter than a normal wolf.”

“Alright,” Ned sighed, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Arya’s ear. 

“Really?” Arya asked, her voice both hopeful and weary. She felt similarly. She turned to look at him and raised her eyebrow in question. The look Ned gave her told her that he would explain when Arya had left.

“Yes, so long as you promise to swear before the Heart Tree you will marry the man who is able to remove the necklace from her neck,” Ned told her. Arya nodded eagerly. “Alright. Now, go to bed. We’ll work out the details in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Arya whispered, getting up and placing a kiss on each of their cheeks and then left the room.

She turned to look at her husband. “Ned,” she sighed, reaching over to take his hand. 

“She reminds me so much of Lya sometimes,” Ned whispered, staring into the fire. “She’s wilder than Lya ever was, but they have the same spirit. And the same face. I remember Lya looking at our father like that when he explained her betrothal to Robert to her.” 

She kept silent while her husband ruminated on his ill-fated sister. He rarely ever spoke of her and she knew that her death was a wound that never fully healed for him. It was a pain she would never fully understand, but she could imagine what it would be like to fight to save Lysa or Edmure for months only to watch them die when she found them. “When we first found the wolves and each of them bonded with one of the children, I wondered what would have happened if Lya had one. If Lya had a wolf, maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe she would have been better protected. Maybe she wouldn’t have ended up in Dorne,” he sighed, taking his hand out from under hers to rub at his face. “If I can keep Arya from the same fate, keep her from having to worry about who she will marry, keep her from feeling the need to run away,” he murmured to himself, turning his eyes back towards the fire.

She tried to keep her face as placid as she could, but Ned had just confirmed what she had always suspected, that Lyanna Stark hadn’t been kidnapped. She had only ever met her once, when both of them were girls, but even from that short interaction she knew that Lyanna was not the type to simply let things happen. If she had run from Robert and from the betrothal, it would make sense to keep that a secret, especially from Robert, but why not tell her? This was something that clearly weighed heavily on her husband, something she could have helped carry the burden of. Surely Ned knew she never would have told anyone had he asked her not to, or even if he hadn’t? Part of her was hurt that he didn’t trust her with this pain, but she pushed that aside. For all that the Tully words applied to her, the word of her husband’s house was more important now: ‘Winter is Coming.’ She must look forward, not focus on the hurts of the past, as that would only weaken them as the Long Summer drew to a close. 

“Arya isn’t Lyanna, Ned,” she reassured him, rubbing a hand along his shoulders. “She is as wild as the North itself, but she’s not unreasonable and for all that she complains about it, she will make a formidable lady. Even at two and ten she helping me with the ledgers and Seven knows she’s got a better head for geography and sums than Sansa.”

“It’s her wildness the worries me. Even Lyanna enjoyed dresses and sewing and other ladies’ friendships so long as she knew she had another option. Arya despises all of it, even though she tries,” Ned sighed, still not quite looking at her. “Robert is my best friend and my brother in all but blood, but he would have stifled Lya. For all the he claimed to love her wildness, it would have been the death of their marriage. Lya wouldn’t have sat passively by as he slept with every women from here to Storm’s End. They would have killed each other. I don’t want that for Arya.” Ned finally turned to look at her, taking her hands in his own. “I know it might be ill-advised, but Arya is an honorable girl. If she swears to marry whoever can get the necklace, she will. If this can keep her safe and happy, I will do it.”

“I’m just worried about what her suitors might think. Most men would object the idea of having to win over a direwolf to even get a chance at marrying a lady, even if she is a Stark,” She told him. She didn’t want her daughter to miss out on a good marriage because they could not convince a direwolf to trust them.

“Most men would never accept Arya as she is,” he reminded her gently. “And most men north of the Neck grow up with tales of direwolves and other beasts of the North, and the connections they had with the Children of the Forest and the First Men. If Arya and Nymeria are bound the way I think they are, any man would have to win Nymeria over anyway and we always knew that Arya would likely never agree to marry a Southron lord anyway.”

She sighed, but nodded. Sansa was always talking about travelling south and living in a great Southron keep. She cheered and nearly floated when she had been told that she would be betrothed to the Crown Prince. Arya had never expressed such interest and she knew that the North was the only place Arya would likely ever feel at home. “Alright,” she said slowly, pressing her eyes closed. At least one of her daughters would still be close to home, even after she married. 

The new armorer’s apprentice arrived at Winterfell the same day as Cley Cerwyn. He had traveled with the Night’s Watch recruiter from King’s Landing and then traveled with Lord Cerwyn and his son to Winterfell, according to Cley. Of course that was all Arya heard about him for the first week he was there because Mother was practically shoving her to spend time with Cley. Arya didn’t terribly mind this, as she had known Cley most of her life, living only half a day’s ride from Castle Cerwyn. But by the seventh day of his visit, Arya was beginning to lose her mind. He continuously tried to find her during her lessons with both Syrio and Theon, questioning constantly why she wanted to learn how to fight. He hadn’t asked in a condescending manner, but he clearly thought Arya odd for her interest in weaponry. When she wasn’t in lessons, he would follow her around, asking her all kinds of questions, especially about Nymeria. He knew what he had to do to win her hand, and seemed determined to find out how to succeed from bothering Arya senseless.

She was panting by the time she made it to the forge. For all that she was known as ‘Arya Underfoot’ and all her lessons in stealth and speed with Syrio, she still had to work hard to avoid Cley. Thankfully Jon had caught on to her need for some time alone and offered to help Cley with his swordsmanship. Cley, of course, had only agreed once Arya said she would be watching. She carefully didn’t specify how long she would watch for this exact purpose. Hopefully Cley wouldn’t think to look for her in the heat of the forge.

“You need something?” a quiet, rough voice asked from behind her. Arya turned quickly and looked at the young man standing over the anvil, a hammer in hand. He had to be about Robb’s age, maybe six and ten, but he was taller than her brother by at least a hands-width. His hair was coal black and his eyes were a shocking blue color, far brighter than the watery blue of her mother and siblings. He was big too, large clearly defined muscles roped up his arms and he held the hammer like it weighted nothing. _He’s strong _, she thought passingly, though it would only make sense for an armorer’s apprentice to be strong.__

__Arya smiled up at him, straighten her back a touch, trying to make herself seem a little less small next to him. Even on her tiptoes, she would only reach his collar bone. “You must be Mikken’s new apprentice, from King’s Landing,” she said, stating the obvious. All he did was nod and stare at her. “What’s your name? No one has told me,” she asked, not bothered by his silence. She had dealt with Jon’s silent moping for years, this was nothing she couldn’t handle._ _

__The boy raised his eyebrow, skeptically, looking closely at her dress, eyes lingering at the hem. Arya glanced down quickly, wondering if she had torn it, but no, it was only muddy from the walking through the practice yard. Other than that, the dress wasn’t really remarkable, a simple grey dress with a row of small black buttons down the front and messy winter roses embroidered on the edges of the sleeves. It wasn’t as pretty as Sansa’s roses, but Mother had been very proud her when she finished it. “’M Gendry,” he said finally, turning away from her and looking at whatever he had been working on._ _

__“It’s nice to meet you, Gendry. I’m Arya,” she told him, walking over a bit closer to look at what he was doing. It looked like he was making a short sword, though she wasn’t sure, as it was still mostly just a long piece of steel that narrowed at the top. She watched as he used a pair of tongs to pick up the maybe-sword and put it in the forge, turning it this way and that. As he did, Arya lifted herself up onto a workbench a bit aways from the forge and the anvil. Close enough that she could watch him, but far enough back to be out of the way. She may be called ‘Underfoot’ but even she knew better than to be underfoot in a forge._ _

__As he turned back towards the anvil, he raised an eyebrow again at her seated position on the table. “You didn’t answer my question,” he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. Despite the cold, his arms were bare. Arya knew Mikken worked in sleeveless shirts all the time, but he was a Northern. Surely a boy from as far south as King’s Landing wouldn’t be used to the cold, even if it was still summer. All the same, she kept surreptitiously looking at them. They were really rather impressive and there was something wonderful about watching his forearms flex across his chest. A small voice in the back of her mind told her she was thinking like Sansa, but she ignored it._ _

__“What question?” Arya asked scrunching her eyebrows in return, idly swinging her legs. “Oh,” she realized, thinking back on what he first said, “No, I don’t need anything.”_ _

__“Why are you here then?” he grunted, turning back to check the sword in the fire, adjusting it some more, moving his head to level a look at her, clearly trying to get her to leave._ _

__Arya raised an eyebrow and kept swinging her legs. “I wanted to come. I like watching smiths work. And, I like to know everyone’s name in the castle and I didn’t know yours yet.”_ _

__Gendry picked up the tongs again and pulled the maybe-sword out and laid it on the anvil, turning it from side to side until it wasn’t cherry red with heat and picked up the hammer again. He swung it in a rhythmic motion up and down the length of the blade. “You know my name now, m’lady. I’m sure you have better things to do,” he said roughly, not stopping the motion of his arm or looking up at her._ _

__“Don’t call me that,” Arya said swiftly. “I’m no lady. And I don’t have anything better to do.”_ _

__“You think I’m stupid?” he asked harshly, lifting the blade and submerging in the bucket next to him, causing steam to rise and hiss. He still wasn’t looking at her._ _

__“Maybe,” Arya shot back. “I never said I was lady and you don’t seem to speak more than a sentence at a time.”_ _

__“You shouldn’t insult people who are bigger than you, m’lady,” he replied, lifting the blade, which was definitely a sword, though probably longer than the short sword she originally thought it was._ _

__“Then I wouldn’t get to insult anyone,” Arya muttered, glaring at Gendry’s back as he placed the sword to heat again. He turned around and leaned on the anvil in front of him, raising his eyebrows again, his jaw set in a stubborn manner. For the first time he met her eyes and kept them there. After a few moments under his intense gaze, Arya looked down. “How’d you know? It’s not like my dress could’ve given me away.”_ _

__“It most certainly did,” he said, a small smirk on his face. “Only a highborn could afford a dress made with nice fabric like that and with embroidery on the sleeves. And you talk all proper.”_ _

__Arya’s head shot up and she looked at him incredulously. “This dress isn’t all that nice and this fabric certainly isn’t expensive. It’s just grey wool. Everyone else in the household has shirts and dresses made out of similar stuff. And plenty of the girls who work here embroider their own clothes. They make more than enough to buy the thread, even if it isn’t the fancy silk that Sansa likes.”_ _

__“It’s still too nice for servant to be wearing on a regular day,” he said definitely, though he was back to not looking her in the eye._ _

__“No, this is what most of the household wears day to day. It’s too cold for anything else. You should have gotten a few shirts like this when you got here, along with a leather jerkin and a cloak,” she said. “Did you not get them?”_ _

__Gendry blinked at her, looking more than a little confused. “I thought those were for when I needed to get cleaned up, when lords visited and such,” he said quietly._ _

__“Is that why you aren’t wearing shirt with sleeves?” Arya asked, looking at his bare arms again, though now she was more concerned with the skin that was showing rather than the arms themselves. Gendry pulled his arms behind his back as she looked at them, clearly uncomfortable with so much attention. Arya didn’t care. “You must be freezing!”_ _

__“It’s not that bad,” he said defensively. “Here in the forge, those sleeves would probably be too hot to work in,” he said quietly, his voice trailing off._ _

__“But you didn’t bring another shirt with you when you came here,” she finished. “Gods, I was only joking when I called you stupid, but you really might be. Do you honestly think we would treat the household staff so poorly?” She was offended not for herself, but at the thought that anyone would think that her family would care so little about their people. Another part of her wondered what King’s Landing was like that a decent shirt and jerkin were seen as something special._ _

__“Oi,” he shouted, shoulders stiffening. “Forgive me, _m’lady _,” he drew out the word lady, as his eyes squinted at her, “If I thought that you highborns might not care for a lowly bastard such as myself.”___ _

____Arya scoffed, “No one’ll care all that much about you being a bastard, except maybe my mother and sister, but even they wouldn’t want to freeze to death, especially since you’re now a member of our household. House Stark takes care of its own.” Arya pushed herself off of the table and stalked towards the forge door. Quickly, she opened it and looked around for one of the maids or errand boys who frequently walked between the training yards and the Great Keep. Soon enough one of them, a maid named Alys, made her way towards the forge, a basket of bread, cheese, and cured meat on her hip. “Alys!” Arya called, not caring that her voice would carry and Cley Cerwyn would likely find her._ _ _ _

____“Can I help you, m’lady?” Alys asked, walking closer to the forge._ _ _ _

____“Gendry here forgot to bring a clean shirt with him when he came to the forge this morning,” Arya gestured towards the apprentice, who was looking at her like she had grown a second head. “Do you think you could get him one from the laundry? Something warm, too. He just came here from King’s Landing,” Arya explained. Alys glanced at Gendry over her shoulder, tilting her head as she looked over his frame._ _ _ _

____“Of course, Lady Arya,” Alys smiled. “Shouldn’t be too hard finding something for him. I’ll bring one once I deliver this to the training yards. Lady Catelyn wanted to make sure your brothers took a break to eat something,” she said, hefting the basket. “Would you like some? There is more than enough in here for all of them twice over.”_ _ _ _

____Arya smiled at Alice and grabbed some of the food, enough for two. “Thank you, Alys. You don’t need to rush to bring the shirt if you have other duties to take care of first. I just wanted to make sure Gendry had something warm and clean for the end of the day.”_ _ _ _

____“Won’t be a problem, m’lady. It’ll be back shortly,” she nodded and gave a slightly curtsy to Arya, and then turned back towards the training yard._ _ _ _

____Arya turned back to Gendry and smiled, holding up the food with a smile. “There, now you’ll have something for when you’re done. And once you’re done with that sword, you should eat,” she said, setting the food down on the work bench. Gendry jumped at the mention of the sword, all of his confusion wiped off of his face as he spun back to the forge and quickly pulled the sword out. It thankfully hadn’t lost any shape, but it was a bright red and Gendry spent the next several minutes turning it on the anvil, trying to cool it enough to work with. Once he had, he looked up at her again, his eyes softer than they had been before. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “You didn’t have to do that.”_ _ _ _

____Arya just smiled and continued to divide the food, “Of course I did. I told you, we take care of our own.”_ _ _ _


	3. 299 AC - Three and Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! She's a bit shorter, but we get some good bonding and some positive affirmation

Arya was sitting next to Meera Reed when Gendry asked. Arya liked the Reed siblings and wouldn’t be completely opposed to marrying Jojen if she had to, but he seemed to think Arya was meant to marry someone else and Arya was just fine with that. But Meera was teaching her how to use a spear and would spar with her most mornings, which even her brothers wouldn’t do. Arya liked have another girl like her in the Winterfell, and Bran certainly seemed to like it too. He constantly showed up to the sparing sessions, sitting on the side of the yard and watching Meera with a love-stricken face. It was nearly enough to drive Arya mad, but Meera hadn’t seemed to mind, smiling to herself whenever she saw him, and the two of them and Jojen were constantly seen together. Even if Arya didn’t marry Jojen, there was a good chance that House Reed and House Stark would be joined soon.

Right then, Arya had Meera to herself, Bran having gone off with Robb and the others on a hunt. Gendry had never seen a crannog spear before and Meera was more than happy to extol their virtues. Arya was happy just to watch Gendry work and talk to her friend. 

Gendry had turned back to the forge, shifting the coals around and adding more wood when he glanced over his shoulder and asked, “Why are all of the lords that visit interested in Nymeria?”

Arya frowned in confusion, “You don’t know?” Gendry had been at Winterfell for over a year, surely he must know by now.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I did,” he muttered, keeping his attention on the fire in front of him. “It’s not like the little lordlings would tell me.”

“Surely you must have heard something. I know people talk about it,” Arya said, tilting her head to the side. Were his shoulders tenser than before?

“Heard some, not much made sense, though,” he said gruffly, shifting the logs in the forge.

“You haven’t told him?” Meera asked, turning to look at Arya, curious and cautious in tone.

“I didn’t think I had to,” Arya said, before turning back to Gendry. “I thought you already knew. Hells, you can to Winterfell with one of the first lords who tried to win my hand,” Arya sighed mockingly, rolling her eyes. Gendry fully turned to face her, his bright blue eyes full of confusion. Arya sighed again, “I put a condition on my betrothal. Whoever wants to marry me has to win over Nymeria and get the pouch from around her neck. In it is a necklace that had belonged to my Aunt. I promised Father that I would marry whoever got it.” 

“And he let you?” Gendry asked. “I know Lord Stark isn’t like most Southern lords, but that seems …” he trailed off, shaking his head, mystified.

“She’s the second daughter of a House with five other legitimate children,” Meera shrugged. “There are plenty of other opportunities of alliances through marriage. If anyone could get away with it, she’s in the perfect position. I would have done something similar, but it’s only me and brother,” Meera explained, idly twirling her spear. “Not that I mind all that much. Most men are too scared of me to marry me anyway.”

“Father doesn’t want me to end up like Aunt Lyanna, is the real reason, I think,” Arya said quietly. Meera hummed in agreement, but Gendry just looked more confused. 

“You must have heard about my Aunt. She’s part of what started King Robert’s rebellion,” Arya said, incredulous. When Gendry just shook his head, she exhaled deeply through her nose and sat up a bit straighter. “My Father had three siblings, Brandon, who was to be Lord of Winterfell, Lyanna, and Uncle Benjen. Lyanna was wild and beautiful. That’s what everyone says. She loved to ride with her brothers and play in the yard with them. But she was the only daughter of House Stark and so she was betrothed to Robert Baratheon and was supposed to become Lady of Storm’s End. Before the rebellion, Rhaegar Targaryen crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of Harrenhal and not long after, he kidnapped her and took her to Dorne. When my grandfather and uncle Brandon went to King’s Landing to demand she be returned, the Mad King burnt them alive. Then he demanded that my Father and Robert Baratheon be killed. That’s when the war began.

“At the end of the war, my Father took eight men with him to Dorne to save Lyanna. They found her, but all but Father and Howland Reed were killed. When they went into the tower that Lyanna was held in, they found her on her deathbed. She had been raped and held hostage as far from the North as you can possibly be,” Arya trailed off, not looking at anyone in particular. She didn’t like to talk about Lyanna. She was a shadow that Arya lived in and, though she would never admit it, she was scared she’d end up like Lyanna. Alone and far from Winterfell. “Everyone says I look like her. Father won’t say it, but I know I remind him of her. That’s why he agreed to the condition. He didn’t want me to end up like her,” she sighed, hiding her face in hair, glad that she had left it down. She felt someone squeeze her hand and when she looked up, Gendry smiled at her, slightly, sadly. She smiled back.

“You aren’t your aunt,” he said, gently, squeezing her hand again. 

“Well I know that,” Arya sniffed. “Everyone always talks about how beautiful she was, and I know I’m not.” Her mother may have gotten her sister and Jeyne to stop calling her Horseface, but Arya knew she wasn’t pretty. She didn’t care. She’d rather be smart than pretty.

Gendry turned back to her. “What are you talking about? You’re plenty pretty,” he looked at her like her head was on backwards. Then he looked at her clothes and conceded, “When you aren’t dressed like a little urchin.” Arya through a rag at him for that, but he just laughed.

“Don’t tease me,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “I know I’m not pretty and I don’t care.”

“He’s right, you know,” Meera said from where she leaned against the wall. “You look plenty pretty to me. And I know you look like your Aunt. When we first rode in Father looked like he’d seen a ghost.” Arya looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. “He met Lyanna when she was a few years older than you. Three squires had attacked him before the Tourney of Harrenhal, and she went after them with a tourney sword and then patched him up. He said you looked exactly like her when you went at those boys for making fun of Hodor. Though,” she said, with her head titled, and her eyes mischievous, “You went after those boys with live steel rather than a tourney sword.” 

Bran hadn’t meant to spy on Arya and the blacksmith, but it wasn’t his fault that they were talking where he could hear them. He had been climbing from the Maester’s tower to the bell tower when he heard them. They were sitting beneath the bridge between the two towers, Nymeria spread out between them. This wasn’t anything new. Everyone knew that Arya was friends with him and that he was friends with her, even if it drove Mother mad. He had heard her and Father arguing about it just the other day. Mother thought it was inappropriate for “a young Lady of her status” to spend time with the Gendry alone. Mother thought that Gendry would dishonor and use Arya. Bran personally didn’t understand what she was worried about. Whenever Bran saw them together, he could tell the Gendry would never do anything to hurt Arya or take advantage of her. If anything, Arya was always the person seeking Gendry out, trying to spend time with him. Like now.

“Arya, you’re Lady Mother is going to kill me if she finds out about this,” Gendry said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Besides, I need to keep working. I –“

Arya cut him off, “You have been working on that helm for Robb for nearly a week straight. You need to take a break,” she said firmly, grabbing his wrist to keep him from getting up. “And I don’t know what you’re so worried about. Mother would talk to me before she ever came to you. She might not like you, per se, but she knows that you are a good blacksmith and well on your way to being a master in your own right.”

“Arry, still,” he sighed, looking up at her. “I don’t want you to get in trouble and it doesn’t matter how talented I am, if she thinks I besmirched your honor, I’ll be out of here before the sun sets.” Bran shifted slightly, turning to sit at the edge of the bridge. Gendry never looked at anybody, even Father. He would hold his head up because Father doesn’t like it when people talk his shoes instead of him, but Gendry would always look over Father’s shoulder or around the forge. With other people, he would do the same, though his eyes would frequently shift downward through the conversation. Arya was the only person he had ever really seen Gendry look at for more than a few seconds at a time. 

“You would never, and we both know it,” Arya stated plainly, her back straight and voice firm. “Besides, how could you besmirch my honor here, where anyone can see us, including the stable boys and Mikken, as well as anybody leaving the Maester’s tower,” she smirked. Bran watched as Arya’s expression shifted, softening. “And I wanted to spend some time with you. I’ve barely seen you since the Reeds left and the Karstarks came,” she said quietly.

“You were spending time with Lord Torrhen. I didn’t want to interrupt,” Gendry muttered, shrugging.

“I was being harassed by Torrhen, is more like it. He is worse than Cley Cerwyn was. Not only will he not leave me alone, but he has made it perfectly clear that he thinks I should be more like my mother or Sansa,” Arya grumbled, her shoulders growing tense and her arms crossed. Next to her, Nymeria huffed and put her head in Arya’s lap. “He even tried to sneak up on Nymeria and cut the cord from around her neck!” Gendry raised his brow at that and looked at the direwolf in question. “Obviously it didn’t work, and all he got was a good scare but still. It’s gotten to the point where even Sansa has said he is being rude when Father asked about him,” Arya told him, making Gendry look up in shock. Bran had to keep himself from laughing at his expression. Sansa’s reputation as excessively polite and more than a bit stuck up was well earned. Bran loved his older sister, but she was not nearly as much fun as Arya or Jon and Robb. So for her to same someone was rude, especially to Father was unprecedented. Even Rickon, who was only six, had stopped eating when Sansa had said that. 

Bran thought that Sansa, while correct, had vastly understated how rude Torrhen was. He had taken to following Arya around the castle, asking her why she wouldn’t rather sow with Sansa. He had started showing up during Arya’s archery practice with Bran and Theon, even though the three of them practiced early in the morning. He had been rude to Theon when he gave Arya advice and asked Bran loudly if he was insulted that he had to share his lessons with his sister. When Bran told him that they were Arya’s lesson first and now she was helping to teach him, Torrhen had looked at him like he a grown a second head. No one really liked Torrhen, but Father had told them that they had to be polite while he was here. 

“If he dislikes your behavior so much, why is he hear? He has to know by now that you are more stubborn that him,” Gendry remarked.

“His father really wants this marriage,” Arya sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s politics. The Umbers, Karstarks, and Boltons are getting more and more dissatisfied with Father, and if one of their heirs marries a Stark girl, they will have more influence over how the North is run. Besides, since Robb is set to marry a Southern lady, Father and mother think it’s important I marry a Northern men to appease everyone.”

“So he and his father want to use you as a pawn, basically, and your parents are hoping you marry him so that the rest of the Lord’s won’t complain,” Gendry growled, his jaw clenched. 

“More or less,” Arya shrugged, grimacing. “That’s really the only thing highborn girls are good for, for the most part. Raising heirs and marrying for alliances. I know have to get married eventually, even though I really don’t want to. That’s why I put the condition on my betrothal. If I have to get married, it’s going to be to someone I know I can trust, who won’t try to change me.”

“You deserve better than that,” Gendry said quietly. “You deserve a choice in who you marry, if you marry at all.”

“I do, but as a daughter of a noble house, especially a great house, I don’t have that choice,” Arya shrugged again. Bran was too high up to tell, but it sounded like Arya was holding back tears. Nymeria gently prodded her hand until Arya’s hand was between her ears. “I used to fight Mother about it all the time. That’s part of why I always snuck out of my lessons. I thought that if I was a bad Lady, no one would want to marry me. Sansa was always the more perfect Lady, always the better daughter, so I gave up trying.” She was definitely crying now, Bran could tell. He wanted to go comfort her, but he knew that this was a private moment for Arya and Gendry. “I used to want to be a knight or an explorer or a warrior queen; for a long time I really thought I could be, because Father let me play with the boys and he agreed to let me learn water dancing, and I thought that meant that I wouldn’t have to get married. So when he told me that I had to, I got really scared. Sansa is going to be the queen and I’m just Arya Horseface, Arya Underfoot, and I’ve made my peace with marriage, even if I hate the idea of it, but with Torrhen here and reminding me of all the ways I’m not a good lady, I’ve been miserable and I haven’t even been able to talk to you, and you’re the only person here who really understands me,” Arya sniffed, wiping her eyes and hugging herself. Gendry got up and walked over to her, hugging her tightly.

“I can’t deny your Underfoot, but you’ve never been a ‘horseface’. I told you before that you are pretty, and I meant it. And I know that you’ll make an amazing lady, because you care about all the of the people who live and work near and in Winterfell. You know the names of all the servants and you go to the Wintertown orphanage once a week to teach the kids there their numbers and letters. You helped me when I was starting to learn mine,” he said quietly, leaning back a bit to wipe the tears away from her face. “Torrhen Karstark is an idiot if he can’t see that, and he doesn’t deserve you.” 

From across the yard, Bran could see someone walking towards the Maester’s tower and while he hoped he was wrong, he thought it might be Torrhen. As the figure got closer, he knew it was. He ducked down a bit more, hoping Torrhen wouldn’t see him. “Bastard, get your hands off of Lady Arya, immediately!” he shouted from across the yard, quickly marching towards the two. 

Bran saw both of them tense up and he saw Arya cringe as Torrhen got closer. Gendry stood up and moved a bit away from Arya, clearly worried. Arya on the other hand, looked angrier than ever and stopped over to Torrhen. “Leave him be!” she said, pointing a finger at him. “Gendry is my friend and you, are the single most annoying person I have ever met and have no right to order Stark servants around like that.”

“Lady Arya, I don’t know what you are up to, but just because you have a condition on your betrothal does not mean you can marry whomever you wish,” he said firmly, glaring at Arya. “This behavior is ridiculous and I will be telling your Lord Father.”

“Do it,” Arya challenged. “Father already knows the Gendry is my best friend and that I frequently drag him out of the forge to take a break when he is working to hard. Anyone in this castle could tell you how happy Gendry makes me and how much time we spend together.” Next to her, Nymeria stood and barred her teeth at Torrhen, a low growl in her throat. This was enough to make Torrhen step back and then turn towards the castle.

“Arry, you didn’t have to do that,” Gendry said quietly.

“Yes, I did. You are my best friend, Gendry, and no one gets to talk to you like that,” she said firmly, marching over to him and hugging him tightly.

“You’re my best friend too, Arry,” he said quietly. “Whoever you marry will be the luckiest person in Westeros.”

Silently, Bran agreed with Gendry. Arya deserved happiness and he would do whatever he could to make sure she got it. Once Gendry had hugged Arya again, Bran carefully moved from where he was sitting to climb back to the Maester’s tower. He had to go talk to Sansa about this “horseface” business and he would take it to Father if he had to.


	4. 300 AC - Four and Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both mentions of attempted rape and assault are in this chapter. One is a mention Joffrey attempting to rape Sansa and the other Ramsay attacking Arya, again, only described after the fact and with minimal detail. Please be advised

Arya was hiding. She wasn’t proud of it, as she preferred to face her problems head on, but this wasn’t a problem that could be solved like that. Roose Bolton had brought his newly legitimized son to Winterfell for the Winter Solstice celebration and Arya despised him. Ramsay was snake like and awful, following her around the castle quietly, his ice chip eyes always following her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her skin crawl and Arya had heard horrible things about what he had done to the servants and women in the Dreadfort. He wasn’t officially courting Arya, but she had no doubt that Roose Bolton wanted a marriage between Ramsay and either herself or Sansa. Clearly, Ramsay had picked Arya as the easier target since Sansa’s betrothal to the Prince had only just been called off a month before after Jon Arryn and Father found evidence that none of the King’s children where actually his, but bastards born of incest between the Queen and the Kingslayer. Arya was glad the betrothal was off, even if it meant dealing with Sansa’s crying and period of refusing to leave her room. Arya hadn’t liked Joffrey when he came to Winterfell to visit. He was cruel to the servants and joked about using Lady’s fur as the lining for Sansa’s wedding cloak. She did not always get along with her sister, but she would never want Sansa married to that.

Though Arya did not like seeing her sister so upset, she had to admit that there was a benefit to all of this; Sansa’s belief that the world is a song had all but disappeared, and her behavior had shifted to match. She had apologized for calling her Arya Horseface last year, not long after Torrhen Karstark left, though Arya still wasn’t sure what had prompted that. Now, she as being politer to Jon, even before father told them he was going to give Jon Moat Cailin once the repairs were finished. She had even volunteered to make a dress and bride cloak for the wildling girl Jon fell in love with when he went to the Wall to be Father’s emissary when more and more rangers started going missing. Sansa had even started making her long tunics that Arya could wear over leggings that were pretty and feminine enough to appease Mother, while still giving Arya more mobility than a dress.

She was very glad for this mobility when Ramsay Bolton was stalking around the castle. No matter where she went, he found her. Even her usual hiding spot in the forge wasn’t safe and she didn’t want Gendry and Ramsay near each other too much. In the five minutes he had been in the forge, he managed to make Gendry more mad and uncomfortable than he had been since he came to Winterfell all those years ago. Gendry had looked ready to murder Ramsay just from how he looked at her, and Ramsay knew it. He took great joy in making othering people uncomfortable and he exploited Gendry’s anger ruthlessly. Anytime he was even in the same room as Gendry, he would leer at Arya and make comments about her under her breath.

While Arya was glad that Gendry was willing to defend her, she really didn’t want her best friend beheaded because he killed Ramsay.

Arya didn’t pay much attention to where she was going, trusting her knowledge of the castle and the Godswood to lose him. She had ducked out of the Godswood, with a firm instruction to Nymeria to stay there so Ramsay would think she was still there, she went in the back entrance to the glass gardens, she was immediately paying more attention. She had only meant to escape Ramsay, not walk in on her sister kissing Theon. Arya came to a dead stop, staring at the two of them with her mouth agape. She knew Sansa was being kinder to Theon, sitting with him when the broke their fast and talking with him more, but she thought that was just a result of Sansa’s growth, not this.

The two of them sprung apart to look at her as she heard a voice from the front of the gardens call out, “Lady Arya, are you here?” Ramsay. Fuck.

Arya turned to her sister and Theon, eyes wide. “I won’t tell anyone if you get him to go away,” she hissed, eyes darting towards the sound of footsteps moving closer. Theon caught on quickly and directed her behind a large flowering bush and stood in beside it, blocking Ramsay from getting close enough to see her. Sansa straightened up when Ramsay came into view and moved to greet him politely, keeping him from moving forward. “Lord Ramsay,” she said politely, but with a touch of coldness in her tone that Arya hadn’t heard before. 

Ramsay bowed to her, with more than enough flourish to make the gesture sarcastic. “Ah, Lady Sansa. I was just looking for your lovely sister. Have you seen her?” He asked, his voice overly polite and gentle, but there was a steely, almost dangerous, undercurrent to it.

“Arya nearly never comes to the glass gardens, Lord Bolton,” Theon said, not moving from where he stood, affecting an air of nonchalance and distain as he looked at Ramsay. “Have you checked the training yard? That’s more her taste.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, pirate,” Ramsay growled, taking a step towards Theon, his eyes narrowing and his fists clenched. Sansa immediately stepped between them, narrowing her eyes in return. She stood up perfectly straight, making it clear that she was taller than Ramsay and leveled a look at him that made it clear that he was not wanted here.

“I know you are new to the life of highborns and lords, Lord Ramsay,” she said clearly, her hands held gently in front of her ice blue skirts, looking like an ice queen. Her tone was clear and each syllable was precise. “So, allow me to give you some advice: you are a son of a lesser house. Both Lord Theon and I are children of great Houses of Westeros. Theon is heir to the Iron Isle and the Iron Fleet. You are heir to a single part of the North, with only a few vassal houses. Beyond that, Lord Theon is fostered here at Winterfell and my Lord Father’s guest. To insult your overlord’s guest is a grievous offense.” Sansa smiled prettily at him as Lady walked up next to her. The she wolf was well-behaved, but still terrifying as she stood as tall as Ramsay’s chest. “My sister isn’t here, Lord Ramsay,” she said curtly, dismissal clear in her tone. Ramsay nodded and bowed, rage simmering under the surface, and then turned to leave. 

Theon slowly moved forward once Ramsay had turned the corner and then turned back to Arya, “He’s gone.”  
Arya stood from where she had been crouching and brushed of the front of her tunic, carefully removing leaves from where they had caught in the embroider of golden leave Sansa had sewn into the red fabric. “Thank you,” she said, looking at both of them. “He’s been following me all day and I thought I had lost him in the Godswood, but I guess not.”

“Are you alright?” Sansa asked, looking Arya over. 

Arya smiled at her sister. “I’m fine, he hasn’t touched me,” she reassured them. She glanced at Theon and Sansa, a smirk forming on her face. “Now, how long as this,” she gestured between them, “been going on?” Sansa flushed bright red and Theon choked on his breathe. “Did you really think I would believe that this was your first little meeting? I may not know much about romance, but it was fairly clear you two have been a little more than friendly,” she teased them, smiling. 

Sansa glanced around the gardens, eyeing the entrance. “Not here,” she said. “We’ve been in here too long, and I doubt Ramsay will stay quiet about Theon and I being together here.” She glanced at the sun’s position in the sky and offered her arm to Arya. “It’s just as well, we need to get ready for the feast. I’ll help you,” she told Arya, when Arya groaned. Still Arya laced her arm through Sansa’s and they walked quickly back to the Great Keep and into Arya’s room.

Arya flopped down on her bed as Sansa opened her wardrobe and began to look through the dresses she had. Most of them were far more simple than anything Sansa would ever wear, but her sister had grown used to the their difference in taste. “Don’t think going through my dresses will get you out of answering my question,” Arya warned Sansa, as she flipped between two dresses, one blue and one grey.

“Oh, I know,” Sansa said, not turning around. “You were always far more stubborn than anyone else I’ve ever met.” Sansa held up the dark blue dress, which was embroidered with snowflakes and weirwood branches, “What do think?”

“Are you sure it isn’t too informal? And when did it start?” She asked, glancing at the rather simple body of the dress, which was just blue wool a scooped neckline.

“If we leave your hair down and you wear a necklace, it will look lovely,” Sansa reassured her. “As for your second question, not long after Joffrey was exposed. Of course I had noticed that he was handsome years ago, but he was just Theon, you know?” Sansa shrugged, sitting at the edge of the bed. 

“But,” she broke off and sighed. “Do you remember when Joffrey came to visit last year?”

“Of course,” Arya said, sitting up, looking at Sansa. “You were so quiet afterwards, but I just thought you were thinking about the wedding or being the queen. Did – Did something happen?”

Sansa nodded, pursing her lips. “When we went for a walk in the Godswood, he tried to force himself on me. He said I was already his, so it didn’t matter if he dishonored me,” she explained, picking at the embroidery on her skirt. “Ser Meryn was there, but he didn’t step in and try to stop him, even after I had started crying and tried to pull away. Joffrey grabbed my wrist when I did,” Sansa bit her lips and Arya reached over to grab Sansa’s hand. “He left a bruise, Arya,” she murmured. “A hand-shaped bruise on my wrist. That’s why I only wore long sleeves afterwards.” She took another deep breath. “When I started to cry, I heard Lady howl and run off. A few minutes later, Theon found us. Joffrey let go and left quickly as soon as he arrived. If it weren’t for him, I don’t want to think about what would have happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell Father?” Arya asked, shocked at what Sansa was telling her. 

“Theon asked the same thing. I was betrothed to Joffrey when I was three and ten. For almost three years I was told I was going to marry him and become the queen. I thought that it was what I was supposed to do – what I was meant to do. And he had been so nice when I meant him, when he came to Winterfell for the first time, and in the letters. So I never told anyone, and I begged Theon to do the same,” She explained, her voice blank. “But when the marriage was called off, I was so happy. I never said anything but I was crying because I was happy and I hid in my room because I didn’t want anyone else to know. I know every thinks I’m naïve and fanciful and I didn’t want pity. And Theon understood that. He didn’t give me pity. He gave me space to be happy,” Sansa shrugged. 

“He was the one who convinced me to be nicer to Jon, you know?” When Arya raised her brow at that, Sansa went on. “I was always jealous of you and Jon, you know?” Arya scoffed at that. “I know, I know,” Sansa hurried out. “But Father always paid so much attention to you. To Robb too, but he was the heir, that made sense. I didn’t understand why he spent so much time with the two of you. I never realized it was because Mother had pushed you both away, even if it was unintentionally in your case. So I let Mother’s anger at him fester in me, even though he had never been anything but kind towards me. But when I found out Joffrey was a bastard, I told Theon that it made sense; after all, Joffrey was all the things that Mother said a bastard was: rude and lustful and violent. 

“But then he looked at me and said: ‘Jon’s not.’ And I had never thought of it like that before. I let my jealousy and my ridiculous need to be the ‘perfect lady’ cloud how I saw him. And I realized how much I had pushed my own brother away because of something so far beyond his control,” Sansa sighed, not looking at anything in particular. “It was the same thing I did to you. I got angry that Father paid more attention to you, even though you weren’t good at what Ladies are supposed to be good at. I got so much praise for my stitching and how genteel I was in conversation that I convinced myself that was the only thing worth being. And then I took that anger out on you, which wasn’t fair to you. You didn’t deserve it and I’m so sorry,” she said softly, and Arya realized her sister was crying. Arya leaned into her sister’s side and rested her head on her shoulder. 

“I forgive you,” Arya said, just as quietly. “I know I wasn’t the best sister either. I was so jealous that you were always so perfect, that mother seemed to love you more – I wasn’t a good sister either.”  
Arya felt Sansa huff a laugh out against her side. “Gods, we’re a mess!” She laughed again, messily, tears still staining her cheeks. “We came here to get ready and talk about boys. And now I’m crying on your bed,” she giggled, wiping her face. Arya laughed as well, reaching out to take Sansa’s hand and squeeze it. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Arya said gently.

Sansa just smiled in return and then went to Arya’s vanity. “Come on,” Sansa said, picking through the jewelry Arya rarely wore. “We still need to get ready.” 

Sansa was leaving the Great Hall with Mother when she heard Arya scream and Nymeria howl. Sansa glanced at her mother, picked up her heavy skirts, and ran in the direction of the sounds. Arya had left not five minutes before them, claiming she was too tired. Sansa knew she was just trying to get away from Ramsay Bolton, who had asked her for far more dances than was appropriate. As they passed the Sept, they saw Arya huddled against the wall of Great Keep, Nymeria next to her, as well as the blacksmith Arya was friends with and a body on the ground, with Nymeria standing above it. 

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Mother demanded as they got closer. Sansa could just make the shape of Ramsay on the ground, a bloody hammer next to him. She looked over to see the blacksmith – oh what was his name? she couldn’t remember – squatting next to Arya, his hand on her arm, running back and forth and talking quietly to her. He looked up at her mother’s voice, but when he moved to stand, Arya’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, tight. She was pale as the moon, and clearly shaking.

“He attacked her, Lady Stark,” the blacksmith said. “I heard her shouting and telling him to get away, heard Nymeria whining and barking, so I ran over to stop him. When I found them, he had force Arya against the wall and was trying to reach under her skirt while he pressed a hand over her mouth.” As he explained, his hand never stopped moving and Arya never let go of his wrist. As soon as he finished, Sansa ran over to Arya, wrapping her arms around her sister. Arya grabbed Sansa’s hand.

Mother’s face had drained of color and she took a deep breath before shouting, far louder than Sansa had ever heard her mother, “Guards! I need the guards!” When no one came, she marched back towards the Great Hall and shouted for them again. When she came back, she had Jory, Harwin, and some of the other men with her. As soon as they saw the body, they ran over, Harwin leaning down to check if there was a pulse. Once the guards were surrounding Ramsay, Nymeria padded back towards Arya and pressed herself against the her.

“He’s alive, just knocked out,” he said, standing back up. 

Mother turned towards Jory, “Please go get my husband and tell him it is an emergency. I want Roose Bolton here as well.” Jory nodded and ran back to the Great Hall. Mother turned to look at the smith. “You said you heard my daughter?”

“Yes m’lady,” he nodded. “I had just finished bathing and was almost back to the smithy when I heard her shout. I first I didn’t do anything, assuming she had just had more than she was used to at the feast, but when Nymeria starting making noise, I knew that there was trouble.”

As he finished, Father and Roose Bolton came into the yard, along with several other men and bannermen. “What’s happened here?” he asked, looking over the scene. “Arya, are you alright?” 

Arya just shook her head and kept holding on to the smith and Sansa. Father eyed the small group and his eyes landed on the smith. “Gendry, what happened lad?” That’s his name, Sansa thought to herself as Gendry explained what had happened.

“You’re smith attacked my son,” Roose Bolton hissed, turning to glare a Father. Sansa stood, though she kept a hand on Arya’s shoulder.

“Gendry,” she said, in the same tone that she had used with this man’s vile son earlier that day. “Saved my sister from your son. He attacked a daughter of House Stark and has been habitually harassing her since he arrived.” That made several eyebrows raise and her father gestured for her to continue. Sansa pursed her lips, knowing that she likely wouldn’t get much time with Theon after this, but her sister was more important right now. “Earlier today, while Lord Theon and I were in the glass gardens together, Arya ran into us and begged us to hide her from Ramsay. She said he had been following her and would not leave her alone. When he saw us, he was rude to me and insulted Lord Theon. I did not think to mention it, as I assumed Arya already had.”

Father nodded and turned towards Roose Bolton. “I am inclined to believe Gendry and my daughters. Your son’s reputation is well known in the North and this does not seem out of character for him,” he said firmly, raising a hand to silence Roose. “There will be a trial, but right now, my daughter is clearly traumatized and I have heard enough.” With the clear dismal in his voice, most of the crowd left, though Roose continued glare at Father. “Jory, please take him to the cells. I will send Maester Luwin down to check on him after he has seen to Arya,” Father said. “I want at least one guard watching him at all time. Also, please find out what happened to the guards that were assigned to this area. They should have come as soon as Arya shouted for the first time.” Father than turned to the four of them, all huddled together. “Catelyn, Sansa, please take Arya to her room and stay with her. Harwin,” he said, turning to the man, “please go get the Maester and send him to Arya’s room.”

Finally, he turned to Gendry, “I owe you many thanks, lad. You saved my daughter and did not leave her side afterwards.”

Gendry just shook his head and looked down at Arya’s hand, still on his wrist, “It is nothing, Lord Stark. I would never let Arya get hurt if I can help it. I just did what anyone would have done.”

“Yes, but you are the only one who did,” Mother said, taking a deep breath. “You saved my daughter and protected her, Gendry Waters. Thank you,” she said and curtsied to him. Gendry looked shocked and stared at Mother. Sansa didn’t blame him. Before this, she had never seen her mother use his name, though to be fair she hadn’t either, but to curtsy to him was something no highborn would do to any of the common folk, let alone a bastard blacksmith.

Father broke the silence between them. “Come one, we should make sure Arya is taken care of. Gendry, lad, we will talk later,” he said, nodding to the smith and then reaching over to help Arya to her feet and walked them back into the keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like have to use a your hot spot to post in your own home :)))))


	5. 301 AC - Five and Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there folks! One more to go

As happy as Arya was that Sansa and Theon were finally getting married, it meant that there was absolute chaos in Winterfell and an influx of young lords hoping to be the one to won her hand. The most persistent had be one of the infernal Frey boys, Elmar. He had come with his older brother and it was clear to her that Lord Walder Frey had made it very clear to his son that he had better come back with a betrothal to Arya. He was somehow the single most annoying person who had ever courted her, including Cley Cerwyn and Torrhen Karstark. He was in turns cocky and full of himself and an absolute sniveling coward. He seemed certain he would win her hand, yet he could barely stand to be near Nymeria.

All of this wasn’t helped by the fact that Mother was getting more and more anxious to see her betrothed. Robb had been wed to Margaery Tyrell not long after the Solstice last year, Theon and Sansa had been betrothed since that wedding, and there were talks between Howland Reed and Father about Bran marrying Meera. Even little Rickon, who was only eight, was half in love with Lyanna Mormont already, the two of them nearly inseparable since her arrival and Arya knew Mother had talked to Lady Mormont about arranging a possible betrothal, especially since many Northern Lords weren’t happy that the Stark heir was married to a Southron girl, even if her family was providing them with grain and meat through the Winter.

Arya was the last unattached Stark, as even Jon had married his wildling bride and moved to Moat Cailin, founding House Stark of Moat Cailin. Mother hadn’t been thrilled about that, and the fight between her and Father about it had lasted for weeks and the repercussions had been felt for months. Still, the end result was Arya being pushed towards every eligible lord from the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands. She had been introduced to so many of them that she couldn’t even remember most of their names, despite her mother’s consistent reminders. Mother knew that she couldn’t order Arya to just pick someone, or encourage Father to pick someone for her, for which Arya was grateful, but she did everything just short of that. And even though a Northern men would be better and Mother distrusted the Freys immensely, she was clearly started to get desperate. 

“Arya, there you are,” a nasally voice called from behind her and Arya tensed immediately. She turned slowly, Needle gripped far too tightly in her hands. Standing at the edge of the practice yard was Elmar Frey, strutting towards her. Beside Arya, Nymeria stood and silently barred her teeth at him, making his steps stutter and slow. Good, Arya thought, smirking to herself. Serves him right for interrupting her lessons. “I have been looking for you everywhere. You’re brother said you were attending your lessons. Do you leave them regularly to play with swords?” he asked, condescension dripping from his voice, though he still stood a ways back from her, clearly afraid of Nymeria. His eyes lingered on the old breeches and large tunic she wore, both damp and muddy. “I can’t image you enjoy being so dirty regularly.”

Arya took a deep breath and reminded herself that he had guest’s rights, so she couldn’t outright kill him. “I am actually in my lesson right know. Every day at noon, I practice my sword skills with Syrio,” she said, her smile forced and voice tight as she gestured to her water dancing teacher.

Syrio stepped forward with a flourishing bow, still holding his sword. “I am Syrio Forel, first sword of Braavos and Lady Arya’s dancing master. Who might you be?” he asked, his accent making the syllables of the question dance. 

Elmar ignored Syrio altogether and turned to face Arya. “You are learning to fight with swords? Surely your Father must object this,” he scoffed, eyeing Needle in Arya’s hands.

Arya smiled again, and corrected him, “Father is the one who invited Syrio to Winterfell to teach me four years ago and accepted Syrio into the service of House Stark. I’m not learning, exactly, as I have been water dancing since I was one and ten. I am not master, of course,” she said, nodding to Syrio, “But I think it’s safe to say I’m rather good.”

Elmar scoffed again, “Sure you are, that’s why you fight with such a small sword. I doubt that could do much of anything in a real fight.”

Arya dropped all pretenses and raised Needle towards him. “Alright,” she said, “If that’s what you think, why don’t we just have a ‘real’ fight to prove it.”

“I would never fight a girl,” he rolled his eyes. “It would be too easy.”

“If it would be so easy, why not just do it?” she asked, not lowering Needle as she walked towards him.

“It is beneath me,” he insisted, though his eyes were nervous as she approached.

“A deal then,” she suggested, wanting nothing more than to put this prick in his place. “If you win, I’ll give you my first dance at the feast tonight. If I win, you leave me alone until you leave.”

This made him pause. So far she had refused to give him the time of day and had, on more than one occasion, simply walked out of any room he entered, even if she had been doing something. This, he knew, would likely be his only chance to try to woe her before he had to leave in three days. He sighed and grabbed his sword, “Fine, first to yield loses.”

Arya smirked and gestured for Syrio and Nymeria to clear the field and stepped away from Elmar, twirling her sword a bit as she did. She had seen him practice with her brothers before and she had little doubt that she could beat him. 

Once the field was clear, they began. The two of them circled each other for a few moments before he got impatient. They traded a few taps and parries, which allowed her to figure out exactly what she needed to do to beat him. He lunged out, clearly trying to surprise her, but his form was sloppy and his stance was weak. Arya side-stepped away and flicked Needle at his hand, making him loosen his grip on his sword and raising a small welt by his thumb. He glared at her, frustration clear in is features. Good, that would make it all the easier for her to win. He advanced again, this time swinging at her. She parried and slid Needle along his blade until she could press the blade underneath his hilt and flip the sword right out of his hand. At the same time, she hooked her ankle behind his and pulled hard, forcing him onto the ground, out of reach of where his sword landed. She held needle to his throat, placed her foot on his chest, and raised her brow.

“Do you yield?” She asked, almost playfully, as he really had no other choice.

“Yes,” he growled, or more aptly tried to growl. It really came out much more winded then he probably intended. He glared at her as she took her foot off his chest and allowed him to sit up. 

She smiled brightly at him in return and began to walk towards Syrio and Nymeria before she turned to face him one last time and said, “Enjoy the rest of your time in Winterfell, Lord Elmar. I suspect I won’t see much of you before you leave.” 

She turned around, flipping her braid, which was slowly coming undone over her shoulder and turned to face her audience. To her surprise, another person was watching her. Gendry smiled as she approached and started to clap slowly, smirking. “Good show, m’lady,” he said, smiling. She groaned at his use of her title.

“I’ve told you a million times, you don’t call me m’lady!” she growled and punched his unfairly muscled arm and then walked past him to grab her cloak. She may be Northern, but it was winter and she was cold. 

He bowed slightly to her, just enough to tease her, “As m’lady commands.”

Arya rolled her eyes at him and turned towards Syrio. “A girl did well,” he remarked, nodding towards the field. “Though her opponent was not very good,” he conceded, his lips ticking up at the side. 

“Thank you, Syrio,” she said then turned back to Gendry. “Have you had your midday yet?” she asked, gesturing towards the castle. Gendry just shook his head and followed her to the kitchens. 

“How exactly did he think he would get your hand if he can’t even stand near Nymeria?” Gendry wondered as they walked.

“Same as the others I suppose, by annoying me into telling Nymeria to just let them,” Arya quipped, making Gendry laugh loudly and smile at her.

The kitchens were even more chaotic then the rest of Winterfell, as they were preparing for tomorrow’s feast. Both Arya and Gendry stuck to the walls as they walked in. One of the girls, Brenna, spotted them and came over. “What can I do for you m’lady? Gendry?” she asked, but her eyes were on Gendry, who smiled at her briefly, seemingly blind to the shade of pink her cheeks turned at the small affection. 

“We just need some bread, meat, and cheese, please, Brenna. Enough for two,” Arya said, smiling tightly. Brenna’s eyes snapped away from Gendry’s chest and nodded, scurrying off. When she came back, she gave each of them a bundle, though Gendry’s was significantly larger than hers. 

“Thought you might like a bit extra, Gendry, since you’re always working in the forge,” she said coyly, ducking her head slightly and pressing her hand against Gendry’s arm. As she did, Arya became increasingly more aware of just how pretty Brenna was, compared to her. She had full breasts and wide hips, as compared to Arya’s near stick-like figure. Her blonde hair was prettily curled and pulled back in a neat bun, whereas Arya’s hair was an uninspiring shade of brown and messily coming out of her braid. Brenna’s features were soft and rounded, until Arya’s sharp nose and cheek bones; Brenna’s eyes were a lovely light brown, wide and bright, whereas Arya’s steel colored eyes were often called hard or firm. 

“Thanks, Brenna,” Gendry said, and smiled at her again. It was a small smile, and not at all how he smiled at her.   
Arya huffed and took the bundle from Brenna a bit more forcefully then was necessary and murmured her thanks as she walked away. What did she care if Gendry was interested in pretty Brenna from the kitchens? It didn’t matter to her. Not at all. She ground her teeth together, the image of Brenna’s hand on his arm playing over and over in her head. Behind her, she heard Gendry rush to follow her. 

“Arry, you alright? You practically ran out of the kitchens,” he asked, huffing a bit as he tried to follow her.

“I’m fine,” she snapped. She knew she shouldn’t, she knew he was doing nothing wrong, but she was mad and he was easy to be mad at.

“You don’t sound fine,” he said, his tone a bit short. She just huffed and rolled her eyes, speeding up again. He jogged ahead of her and placed himself in front of her, reaching out to grab her shoulder firmly, but not hard enough to bruise. “Arya, what’s wrong? You seemed fine five minutes ago and asked me to get midday with you. Now you run out of the kitchens and won’t answer me. What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you go have midday with Brenna, I’m sure she would be more than happy to,” she said and ducked under his arm, storming off towards the keep.

Behind her she could her him sputtering in confusion. “What? What does Brenna have to do with – Arya! Arya!” he shouted. She heard him take a few steps forward, but Nymeria growled and he stopped. She didn’t turn around and went into the keep and right to Sansa’s room, Nymeria hot on her heels.

She knocked on her sister’s door, praying that she was alone. Sansa opened the door slightly and looked confused to see her. “Arya?”

“Can I come in?” Arya asked, horrified to realize that her voice was wet and there were tears welling in her eyes. Sansa hurriedly nodded and pushed Arya towards the chairs that she had by her fireplace.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked, her brow furrowed, tone cautious.

“I’m an idiot,” Arya explained, dropping into a chair, reaching into her bundle and tearing off a hunk of bread to stuff in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Sansa said, sitting across from her. 

“I am,” Arya insisted. “I’m an idiot and I fell in love and I didn’t even realize it and he’ll never love me back,” she said in a rush before tearing off another piece of bread and sticking it her mouth so she couldn’t keep talking.

Sansa fell back in her chair and blinked a bit, then took a deep breath and walked over towards the door. She stuck her head out and called for one of her lady maids, “Wylla, I need I tankard of decent wine and three goblets, please. And have the kitchens send up some of the lemon cakes they have prepared. Thank you.” She then turned to Arya and said, “I’m getting Margaery, she’s better at this then I am.” With that, she hurried across the hall and was back a moment later with their good sister. 

“Sansa told me that you’re in love and panicking about it?” Margaery said carefully as she came in, tilting her head a bit to look at her. Arya just nodded. She turned to Sansa, “You have wine coming?” When Sansa nodded, she sidestepped where Lady and Nymeria were curled up together, and moved to sit next to Arya. “Now, who exactly are you in love with?” she asked gently.

“Gendry,” Arya mumbled, not looking up. 

“The smith who saved you last year?” Sansa asked, moving towards the two of them. 

Arya nodded, still not looking up. She tore off another piece of bread.

“Ah,” Sansa and Margaery said together, just as Wylla came in with the wine and cakes.

“Good, we’ll be needing that,” Margaery said, grabbing the glass and taking a sip.

Theon smiled at his wife. Sansa was his wife now. He still wasn’t sure how that had happened, but he was beyond happy the it had. Sansa turned to look at him and smiled back, leaning over to kiss him. That might have been his favorite part of the betrothal, being able to kiss her in public. It had been what had gotten him through all of the negotiations with his father, through his sister. In the end, the fact that Robb and Margaery hadn’t had a child yet was what made his father give in. The thought that a Greyjoy might control the North was appealing enough to make him agree, even though it was a long shot. Of course he had no idea that Margaery was drinking Moon Tea for now and Theon didn’t care. For her part, Yara had told him she was just glad he found a pretty girl who was willing to marry him, and one who was smart enough to hold the Isle if he had to leave. 

Sansa had been offended by this frank assessment at first, but he assured her that that was high praise from his sister. She had huffed, but he knew she was happy his family liked her. Or, well, the family that mattered. Uncle Rodrik and Aunt Gwen loved her and had agreed that his mother would have as well and Dagmer had told him under no uncertain terms that he was incredibly lucky to be marrying a girl as clever and beautiful as Sansa. Theon was inclined to agree to his uncle’s assessment. 

When he had first kissed her he thought it would be short, some fun with this fascinating girl who had always been pretty and was now openly seeking him out and talking to him. He hadn’t thought he would fall for her, though he did, hard and fast. She was funny and smart and she genuinely cared about his stories of the Isles, which no one other than Arya had ever even asked about. He thought it would be over after that nasty business with the Bolton bastard, though he understood why Sansa had said that they were in the gardens together. The very fact that Lord Stark hadn’t sent him packing the next day, but instead asked if he would like to officially court Sansa was proof enough for him that the Drowned God was really and did help sometimes.

“I can’t believe you're mine,” he murmured as she pulled away, enjoying the pretty flush that spread across her face. 

“Now and always,” she responded, smiling back at him. He kissed her temple and then reached for his goblet. They were alone at the high table for now, taking a break from dancing. He watched the guests spinning around the hall. Even Lord and Lady Stark were dancing, which everyone knew only happened when Lord Stark had a few cups of wine in him. His eyes caught on two figures at the edge of the hall, one sitting and one standing. Gendry was switching between glaring into his horn of ale and looking at Arya with puppy eyes that could give even Summer a run for his money. Arya in turn, kept glancing at Gendry and shift ever closer to him form where she stood against the wall. Sansa followed his gaze to the two of them and sighed.

“I see the two of them still haven’t talked,” she muttered, reaching for her own goblet of wine. When he turned to look at her, she sighed. “Arya came to my room’s yesterday, crying, because she realized she was in love with Gendry and was convinced he would never feel the same. She realized all of this, mind you, after realizing one of the kitchen girls also liked Gendry and is pretty. She handled all of this in her typical Arya fashion –“

“Getting angry and snapping,” Theon finished, shaking his head and laughing a bit.

“What’s so funny?” Sansa asked, bumping her shoulder against his.

“Just the thought that Arya is only now realizing she is in love with him and the idea that he doesn’t love her back,” he said, turning to look at Sansa. 

“What?” she asked flatly, clearly confused. Theon laughed again.

“The two of them have been gone on each other since he came here. Arya has always had a crush on him and Gendry clearly loved her as a friend, at least, until the whole Ramsay debacle. I think that is when he realized that Arya is a girl and a very pretty one at that. Course, he would never say anything about it, because he doesn’t think he deserves her because he is very insecure.” Sansa leveled a knowing look at him, her lips flattened and eyes squinted. “I know, I know,” he said, raising his hands a bit. “Takes one to know one.”

“Well, hopefully, they can at least talk to each other soon, because Arya was terrified of losing him and I think the same can be said for him,” Sansa sighed.

“Enough talk about your sister on our wedding day,” Theon said, smiling. “Dance with me?”

Sansa giggled and stood, “Always.


	6. 302 AC - Six and Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last one! I hope you guys like it

Arya liked Ned Dayne. He was funny and friendly and he agreed to spare with her and complimented her when she won and offered her advice when she lost. Never raised an eyebrow when she wore her tunics or even when she wore her training clothes. He was handsome too, with almost silver blonde hair and intense blue eyes. Of all the suitors Arya had had, she liked him the best. She was friends with him. He listened to her and respected her. If Arya had to pick a perfect person to marry it would probably be him. And if she had to repress feelings for her best friend when she did, well, that was her business.

Her parents like him too. Mother was just glad a suitable young lord was finally, probably, going to marry Arya, and Father thought Ned was an honorable young man and was flattered that he was the boy’s namesake. Many of the lords, who wanted Arya to marry their children, were appeased when Ned was able to organize for the bones of the men who had died at the Tower of Joy to be dug up and sent to each of their houses, so they could be buried in the crypts. That he would do so before he even had Arya’s hand made them happier. 

Her siblings all like him, as well. Jon thought he was good man with a good head, Robb had said that he had the makings of a good lord and was funny. Both Sansa and Margaery thought he was charming and Bran and Rickon both thought he was funny and greatly enjoyed that he spared with them and gave them advice. Even Meera, who while not a Stark yet, would be soon, had like him. He hadn’t disparaged her for her lineage and had asked any number of questions about the Neck. The two of them had spent a whole afternoon comparing the crannog spear technique to the Dornish.

Everyone like him, it seemed, except for the person whose opinion valued the most. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. To say that Gendry disliked Ned implied he had any thoughts on him at all. Every time she went to look for him, to ask him about what he thought, he suddenly wasn’t where he was supposed to be. If she did manage to find him, he was curt and bordered on rude. He would respond to her questions with a grunt or just say he had work to do. She had known him for years. They were each other’s best friends, but now he wouldn’t even look at her. Ned, for his part, when he saw who upset she was, tried to talk to Gendry himself. When he came back, he said Gendry barely even looked at him and spoke only one or two words. 

This had been going on for nearly a week now, and Arya was really angry, but more than that, she was scared she’d lost her best friend. After last year and the Brenna incident, she had been so careful. She had acknowledged her feelings and tried to move on with life, like Margaery had suggested, and it had worked, until Ned came. 

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Ned said, coming to a halt beside her at the gates of Winterfell. He had suggested that they go for a ride in the Wolfswood together so she could relax a bit and she had agreed. He had even let her rid his Sand Steed for a bit, which she had always wanted to do. Even the weather was perfect, a false spring, Father called it. It was still cold to be sure, but not bitingly so and a good cloak was all you needed to go out. But Arya was miserable, and nothing seemed to change that.

Arya sighed and smiled at him. “I’m sorry I haven’t really been myself today. It was perfect Ned, but…” she trailed off with a sigh.

“I understand. He is your closest friend. You aren’t wrong to be upset by his behavior,” he reassured her as they cantered to the stables. Once they were there, Ned hoped off his horse and smiled as Arya gracefully got off of hers. “If it weren’t for the fact that you are a Northern beauty through and through, I would think you’re part Dothraki,” he teased, smiling a bit as Arya blushed. Both of them took care of their steeds, and when they went to leave, Ned grabbed her hand

“Arya, I wanted to ask before I did anything,” he began and then stopped, taking a deep breathe before he continued. “I have found myself entirely enchanted with you Arya Stark, and I want to marry you. I want to try to take the necklace from Nymeria tonight, but I didn’t want to do it without your permission,” he said in a rush, a blush of his own building on his face.

Arya smiled at him and moved onto her toes to kiss Ned briefly. A peck really. It felt nice, but not like Sansa had descripted. Still, she laughed a bit about how pink he got from something that simple. “You can try, Ned, but I can’t make any promises,” she told him, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know,” he said. “I just didn’t want to spring it on you,” he explained as his hand reached up to cup her cheek and brush a stray piece of hair behind her ear before leaning down to kiss her again.

Across the courtyard, there was a heavy clatter and both of them turned to see Gendry, with his hammer on the ground, storming off. 

Arya growled deep in her throat and turned to Ned, who just shook his head and said “Follow him. You two should talk.”

With that, Arya stalked towards the Godswood, where she saw Gendry disappear into.

Ned Stark had come to the Godswood to pray, as it seemed like Arya would finally be getting married. Ser Edric Dayne was a respectable young lad and clearly taken with Ned’s wild daughter. Arya seemed to like the young man and so did her wolf. Ned was glad is willful girl had found someone who would let her be herself. Dorne might be a bit hot for her Northern blood, but it would suit her wildness and strength. She would do well as the lady of Starfall

Despite these assurances he told himself and Cat, he was still nervous. He didn’t want his little girl so far from him and while he knew she was not Lyanna, the thought of a Stark she-wolf alone in Dorne did not sit well with him. So, he went to pray.

As he approached the heart tree, he heard voices. He could just barely make out Arya, still in the knee-length blue tunic Sansa had made for her and her grey britches, and Gendry, Robert’s lad. He knew the two of them were close, that Arya trusted his opinion nearly as much as her own direwolf’s, but to see the two of them so close was surprising. Surely the lad had more sense than to stand so close to a lady from a great house. He knew Arya wouldn’t care and he himself didn’t mind, but others would. As he got closer, he realized exactly why they were so close.

“What is your problem with him?” Arya shouted, her hands flying out and shoving his chest. Gendry barely moved. “He’s the first person to come for my hand I actually like and he’s really nice and you’re being a shit!”

Gendry’s voice was quiet and low when he spoke, his arms crossed tight over his chest, “It’s not that.”

“What is it then? Do you just not want me to be happy?” Arya asked, her voice low and growling, and pushed a finger into his chest. Beside her, Ned could see Nymeria’s hackles raising. “You think that just because you are miserable, I should be too?”

“No!” Gendry shouted, pushing her finger away and turning away from Arya, “You know it’s not that.” Quietly, so quiet Ned almost didn’t hear it, he whispered, “All I want is for you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. To be happy and free.”

Arya visible softened at that, “They why are you treating Ned the way you are. You’re my best friend, Gendry, and you’d really like Ned if you got to know him. He’s not like all the other lordlings who’ve come.”

“I know that,” Gendry muttered, still not looking at Arya, his eyes focused on the face of the Heart Tree. 

“Do you think Ned won’t make me happy? Cause –“ Arya started.

“I know he will,” Gendry sighed, running his hands through is dark hair, his fingers caked in soot a similar color. “I know he will and I hate it, because there is nothing for me to not like about him. He is a good man and I’m sure you’ll be happy in Dorne.”

“Why do you hate that?” Arya asked, her shoulders tensing, but her voice still quiet. “What’s wrong Gendry? You’ve been avoiding me for almost a week and I do manage to see you, you just glare and grunt at me! You tell me you want me to be happy, but then you just ignore and treat me like a stranger you don’t like.” Ned could hear the desperation in Arya’s voice and he could see the hurt in her grey eyes. “Did I do something? Did I offend you? Just tell me!” Arya’s eyes were filling with tears, even from a distance Ned could see that. 

“Because I’m going to lose you!” Gendry shouted, turning to face Arya. “You’re going to go to Dorne and marry Dayne and be incredibly happy and I’ll be stuck here without you. You’ll go and I’ll be miserable cause you’re my best friend and the only person here who really knows me.” Gendry sank down to the ground, his back pressed against a tree, his hands pressed into his face. His voice was muffled behind his hands, but Ned could hear it breaking as he continued. “You’re going to be happy and I’m going to miserable. But I didn’t want to tell you because I knew that you were happy with Dayne and I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Gendry,” Arya sighed, moving to sit next to him. “I’ll always be your best friend. I promised you, and I meant it. I’ll still write and I’ll visit. If you want, I’m sure you could come to Dorne with us. You’re one of the best smiths in the North, Ned would be a fool to turn you away.”

“I’d still lose you,” Gendry murmered. “You wouldn’t be Arry anymore. You’d be m’lady and you’d have a castle to run and people to attend to. A new family to take care of.”

“Gendry,” Arya started again.

“You know it’s true. Either way I lose you and even if I went to Dorne with you, I’d watch you be insufferably happy with Dayne,” Gendry told her harshly.

“You keep saying that,” Arya snapped. “If you want me to be happy, why would you be so miserable watching me with Ned?”

“Because I love you, Arya,” Gendry said, his voice full of resignation. Ned could see Arya fall back at that, her mouth opening and closing, but nothing coming out. Ned wanted to turn around and leave, but any movement would make both of them aware of his presence and he could tell this was a conversation that they needed to have. “I love you and I can never be with you because I’m just a bastard blacksmith with no name and no land to give you. I’m lucky to even have your friendship and you deserve more than what I can give.”

“You love me?” Arya asked quietly, her voice both full of fear and awe.

“I do. I have for a while now. Dayne just made me realize it,” he said, leaning back against the tree and looking down at his hands. For all that he looked like Robert, Ned knew this look of humble contrition and resignation would never cross his friend’s face. “You’re smart and funny and kind and so, so beautiful, Arya. How could I not love you?” 

Arya stared at the man beside her, and quietly whispered, “I love you too.” Gendry turned to face her at that. “I have for as long as I can remember. I never thought you felt the same way.” Gendry reached up and brushed some hair away from her face and rested his palm against her cheek. “I’ll talk to Ned. I’ll find a way to say no,” she said, her gaze locked on Gendry’s.

“You can’t Arya,” he whispered hoarsely. “You promised your father that you marry the Lord who got the necklace from Nymeria and we both know Ned is going to try tonight. And you promised not to interfere.”

“I don’t want to marry him, though,” Arya whispered back, her voice breaking. Ned watched as Nymeria walked over from where she had been sitting next to the Heart Tree. She sat next to the two of them and started whining at Gendry, nudging at him with her nose. 

“Nymeria, what?” Gendry asked as his acquiesced and began to run his hand on her head and neck. Carefully, Nymeria turned and pushed her neck into his hand, right over the cord that held the necklace. She lifted her front leg and pushed at the cord, looking meaningfully at Gendry.

Beside Gendry, Arya laughed, her face joyful where it had been heartbroken only moments ago. “Oh, clever girl, Nymeria,” she praised. Gendry turned to look at her, his brows pulled together and confusion clear on his face. “I promised to marry the man who got the necklace, not necessarily a lord,” she explained, a smile growing on her face.

Hope began to grow in Gendry’s eyes as well. “Are you sure, Arya? I can’t give you a castle or lands or even a name,” he said, his hands shaking as he moved them to the ties on the cord. 

Arya nodded emphatically, “I never needed any of those things. Just to be happy and wild.”

Gendry smiled, “I wouldn’t want you any other way,” and undid the knot and then pulled the string loose that held the pouch closed. Carefully, he removed the necklace and moved to stand, pulling Arya up with him. He turned to her and carefully placed the necklace around her neck. “Arya Stark, will you marry me?” He asked, his voice disbelieving. 

Instead of answering, Arya grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to her, kissing him long and hard. Ned could see both of them smiling into each other mouths and heard they breathless laughter. Slowly, he backed away, leaving them in peace. His wild girl would get married, but she wouldn’t be alone in Dorne. He’d have to talk to Catelyn about giving them a keep somewhere in the North, perhaps along the western coast. Another harbor city would be a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the AMAZING art that melcochita on tumblr made: https://tinyurl.com/y6kk6lat   
> It's awesome
> 
> Kudos and Comments are love and I hope you guys liked it!
> 
> (Also, would anyone be interested in an outtakes for this, with someone of the scenes we didn't get to see? lmk)

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what y'all think! Comments and Kudos are always super appreciated!


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